


Ordinary People Adventures

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Series: Captain Falcon Flies [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam and Steve have no alone time, or the one where Bucky and Clint are basically children</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary People Adventures

Sam stood at the stove, scrambling another six eggs for Steve. Outside the window, a light rain fell. Autumn had been uncharacteristically warm, but the temperature had finally dropped into the low forties and brought misty rains and cloudy days along. It was the kind of weather that could make you feel sad for no reason, or make you grateful to have a space heater for a boyfriend.

Steve sat at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper, eating slabs of French toast drenched in syrup.

“Wanna have an OPA today?” Sam asked, raising his voice over the sizzle of the eggs.

Steve paused between bites. “You know, _we’re_ ordinary people,” he said, “so we don’t have to call them ‘Ordinary People Adventures’.”

Sam shrugged. “I think there’s a difference between going to buy dish towels and going to stop homicidal death bots from leveling a country.” He dumped the eggs onto a plate and set it in front of Steve, who smiled his thanks. Sam thumbed away a drop of syrup from the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Steve caught his wrist and pouted.

“I was saving that.”

Before Sam could say anything suggestive, Clint and Bucky ambled into the kitchen, tousle-haired and disheveled.

“My house is not a motel,” Sam pointed out for the thousandth time.

Clint made a beeline for the coffeemaker and Bucky tossed his head, unapologetically.

“Clint insisted he could beat me on the Rainbow Road.”

Steve sucked the syrup off Sam’s thumb un-self-consciously. “Was that Waluigi’s death rattle I was hearing all night?”

Clint groaned. “Damn bike had terrible handling.”

“Maybe turn it down next time?” Sam suggested.

Clint snorted into his coffee mug. “After what Buck and I overheard last time, we’ll be keeping the volume high.”

“It’s _my_ house,” Sam said, refusing to be embarrassed. Steve, on the other hand, had turned a lovely crimson shade. “You both have apartments—nice apartments. Go. There.”

Bucky snatched a piece of bacon from Sam’s plate on his way to the refrigerator. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “You and Steve would drive each other crazy without us around for variety.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Steve said. “We should test it sometime.”

Sam and Steve had actually talked about this very thing last week, imagining what it would be like to have a single day go by without Nat, Clint, or Bucky crashing into the house, demanding to be fed or entertained.

And if _they_ weren’t enough to handle, Tony had installed a private line between Sam’s house and the Tower for emergencies. The trouble was, Tony played fast and loose with the definition of “emergency.” Somehow, he knew the exact moment Steve and Sam had a second to themselves, had achieved maximum comfort on the couch, or the sexual tension had reached a breaking point. Then and only then would Tony take over their flat screen to tell them some side-splitting knock-knock joke or a not-so-humblebrag anecdote from his day.

Between the superspies, the assassin, and the egomaniac, Sam and Steve hadn’t had much time to themselves since the start of their relationship. Their ordinary-people-adventures were islands in the day because none of the others had any interest in buying the groceries or depositing checks at the bank.

“Why didn’t you make waffles?” Bucky asked, sounding personally offended.

“Because," Sam said, "Steve and I wanted French toast."

“Steve’ll eat anything,” Clint chimed in. “French toast is just soggy bread.” He shoveled an entire slice of “soggy bread” into his mouth, dripping syrup down the front of his—strike that, one of Sam’s—undershirts.

Steve flashed Sam an apologetic smile, which went a long way toward mollifying him.

“OPA?” Steve reminded him.

“Yeah,” Sam said. He turned to Bucky and Clint. “Put all the clothes you have stolen from me in a hamper. And if there is Cheetos dust on my couch, Steve is gonna kick your ass.”

 Clint and Bucky didn’t look remotely fazed by this threat, but Sam let it slide. There was only so much you could do with these guys. They reminded Sam of his siblings, Gideon and Sarah—unbelievably, profoundly irritating, but he’d take a bullet for them anyway.

“Just let me get changed,” he said.

“I’ll help,” Steve offered, already out of his seat.

Clint and Bucky made kissy noises at Sam and Steve’s retreating figures. Sam wondered how those two were even classified as functioning adults.

“Sorry about them,” Steve apologized once Sam and he were in their bedroom.

Sam shook his head. “I talk a big game, but they’re family. And family is annoying.”

Steve pressed a kiss to Sam’s shoulder. “We could do a little annoying of our own,” he suggested. His fingers went to the waistband of Sam’s pajama bottoms.

Sam grinned. “I like the way you think, Rogers.”

*****

When Sam and Steve passed Bucky and Clint on the way out the door, their uninvited guests pantomimed vomited.

“I’m going to need more therapy,” Bucky yelled after them.

Sam and Steve grinned at each other and stepped out into the misty rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think these guys are this amazing fivesome who gets on each other's nerves all the time, but couldn't really imagine it being any other way. Like Sam said, they are family.


End file.
